Fate or Chance?
by RainThestral93
Summary: Hermione's been jilted at the altar by Ron; and it's Ginny who convinces her to visit her honeymoon destination, anyway, despite her grief. Draco Malfoy has an unwanted admirer, and he flees to Paris in a desperate bid of escape; hoping to find an aristocratic woman who his Mother might actually like. Some credit our life events to chance; others, to fate. But which one will it be?
1. Moping

**A/N:** So I initially wrote this as part of a book I started writing called "I Don't Speak French" - you can see it on WattPad. But then I lost interest and it all kind of disintergrated from there. But re-reading it I came across two characters who seemed startingly familiar. I give you one of the most intense holiday romances you're ever going to get - with the Queen of Fire and the King of Ice, what do you expect? Really hope you enjoy; let me know what you think - Beth :) xx

* * *

**Intense Moping**

"Hermione, I have a plan!" Ginny, my best friend, shouted at me, from where she was perched precariously on the toilet seat, painting her nails a vibrant shade of crimson. "Let's take those plane tickets and go to Paris! Just as planned…..but different."

"To Paris?" I bawled. I was a total wreck, but I was past the point of caring. Makeup several days old caked my cheeks, and mascara framed my eyes like some kind of rare Panda species.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, and with the combination of makeup, I looked like a melting wax figure. I had torn the delicate tiara that had been selected oh-so-carefully to match my dress, from my head, and it was now lying halfway across the room, prongs all bent out of shape.

For several days now, I had sat and wept like an infant, my sole comfort tubs of Ben and Jerry's... of which I'd lost count of how many cartons I'd consumed. But I didn't even care about the calorie consumption. He was gone. And he didn't love me.

"Yeah, why not?" Ginny pressed enthusiastically, and I interrupted her before she launched into a massive speech.

"Why not?! I can think of PLENTY of reasons why going to Paris, the city of _love _would be a bad idea. Not to mention it was the place we were going to go for our –hiccup- honeymoon!" I stood up from my bed, my voice raised and my whole body shaking with sobs.

"It'll help you forget about it!" my best friend chirped. I groaned. Sometimes, as much as I loved her, she just really didn't get it. I wept, throwing myself at my tear-soaked and mascara smeared pillow.

She sat at my side, smoothing out the duvet cover, and rubbed her hand gently on my back in small circles. I continued crying furiously into my pillow, choking on my sobs. "Come on, Hermione, be reasonable – you're not going to just going to hide in your room with the curtains closed for eternity, are you?" she probed.

"Reasonable!" I screeched, lifting myself up from my pillow. "Ronald left me at the altar and you're telling me to be reasonable?!" I sniffed, attempting to calm my breathing as I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. I admired Ginny for how patient she was being with me. I could be a total bitch sometimes, and not to mention the whopping headache that my bawling had probably given her. I shook my head, murmuring, "How did I not know he didn't love me... how could I not see what a douche he was? How could I be so...blind?"

"Oh, Hermione," she sighed. "Usually douches are always in disguise and then they jump out and surprise you - that's what partially makes them douches! But even though Ron's my brother I'm never going to forgive him for what he's done to you." Ginny had had more than her fair share of douche boyfriends – her ex, Dean, had given her a black eye on numerous occasions – but she at least had seen the light before she was in too deep.

I sighed. "Five years? Five years and I still couldn't see?" Everything had seemed perfect – Ron had been everything a girl could wish for, smart, sensitive and he was oh-so-funny. That didn't stop him taking half my money and going off with that scumbag Lavendar, from school, though... I suddenly snapped out of it, appearing back in the room, as I realised Ginny was talking to me.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Ginny shrugged. "It's better now than later, right? It's better this way than being married with eighteen kids and having to get a divorce?" I couldn't help but giggle slightly as I thought of the large Weasley family – at least Molly and Arthur _loved_one another.

I continued to rub my eyes; and the mascara probably camouflaged my whole face by now, but I didn't care. That was why I loved Ginny – she always had that way about her that made the situation, however bad, seem not quite so terrible. "C'mon, let's get you up and out of this flat before you rot away!"

Somehow, by some suspicious means involving a cinnamon cappuccino and a white chocolate muffin, my best friend had convinced me to clean myself up, and pack a small suitcase full of clothes that looked vaguely clean. That morning she woke me bright and early, and made me head to the airport with her. We were going to Paris. The last place I wanted to be, right now.

* * *

We sat in the airport, waiting, watching the people go by. It's funny, watching life in an airport – as you watch as you see peoples' relationships in comparisons to others. There's the old couples who seem inseparable, the over protective mother, chasing boisterous children around the terminal building, and then there's the young so-much-in-love couples. I must have looked like a total miserable wreck, where I sat perched on my uncomfortable metal seat, green with envy at the sight of the happily newly-weds.

"Why did I even choose France for a honeymoon?" I asked, to nobody in particular. "Why didn't I pick New York? All those shops! Why not Australia? All those surfers... I can't even speak French!" I sighed, exasperatedly.

Ginny chuckled, even though I didn't really mean for it to be answered. "But Hermione, you've always wanted to go to Europe... ever since your parents took you skiing there you've gone on about how you wanted to go back!"

I smiled at the memory, but then my face immediately fell. Many an hour had been spent fighting with my parents over the years – my Dad in his steel rimmed spectacles, peering over his paper at me and telling me that we would be going skiing; and that I couldn't stay at the Burrow over the summer. It seems only yesterday, but my parents had won in the end.

Parents always won, I chuckled. I was no longer able to do that, though, I thought bittler – for the Obliviation charm I'd cast had rendered my parents unaware of the existence of myself. I'd got through just about everything since my seventeenth birthday without them – including the humiliating experience of being jilted at the altar.

But Ginny was right, in her statement. I _had_ always wanted to go back to Europe. Just not having just been jilted at the altar by the man who I've just wasted five years of my life with... Ronald Weasley really was a complete and utter dick, I thought bitterly to myself as I handed my boarding pass to the rep. He smiled at me, and I blanked him unintentionally as I made my way aboard the plane.

Hopefully as we took off, my morbid thoughts would also be left behind. But I wasn't betting on it.


	2. Escape

**A/N: **So this story will be told from the perspective of Hermione/Malfoy alternating, hope I've got the characters right - let me know what you think, as always - Beth :) xx

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**Escape**

"Drakey," Pansy chimes, as she encircles my waist with her arms, pressing herself against me. I groan, rolling my eyes and looking away. I pull her arms gently off me and take a step back.

"It's Draco, Pansy, not Drakey. You know I hate being called that, even if I _do_ feel privileged to have earned my own special nickname from you," I say before taking a long slurp of the beer that had just been placed in front of me. I wink at the barmaid and her cheeks tinge pink before she turns to the next customer. I do love toying with poor innocent women, I think to myself.

"Fine then, Draco," Pansy began, over pronouncing my name. I rolled my eyes. "I don't understand why you're so defensive about your name anyway, I mean, it's an old man's name! It makes you sound about fifty," Pansy joked, leaning back against the bar. She stuck her chest out, showing off the assets which she's so proud of. They weren't even anything special. I turned my head further away from her; she was unnervingly close, focusing on a couple bickering in the corner of the dimly lit room. Why wouldn't she just leave me alone? All she ever was to me was some chick I picked up for an easy ride during our school years, but ever since I'd never seen the back of her.

"Because that's what my parents named me," I say moving away from the bar, "So that's what I wish to be called." Pansy follows me like a lost puppy, and I lose it, spinning round to face her. "I'm going to France," I say, almost spitting the words in her face.

She stares at me for a few moments – probably the quietest that she's been all evening, and I stand there, awkwardly. Then, she begins to stutter. I watch, all the while tapping my fingers against my pint glass, almost waiting for the inevitable explosion or crying that was going to happen.

"But why?!" She exclaimed, shoving me squarely in the chest, but to no avail. I remained where I was. "You didn't think to tell me?!"

I interjected there. "I'm telling you know, aren't I?" I chuckled. For some reason, I always found it amusing when girls overreacted like this. Or I did at least in the movies; it wasn't quite the same in real life. I think a pang of guilt struck me, as a tear escaped and trickled down her face. I reached out to wipe it away, but she slapped my hand back.

"I thought I meant something to you!" She was nearly wailing, now. "Don't you even care about my feelings?" Then suddenly she begins bawling, like a goddamn baby, and I groan as people turn to stare.

"What you looking at," I grunt at a woman near us who is gaping with an open mouth. "It's not a freaking soap opera, you know."

Turning back to Pansy, I take her chin and tilt her face up. This time she doesn't slap my hand away, and I cringe, because I think I see a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Oops. Well this will hurt her, I think to myself, as I open my mouth to explain myself to this sad, pathetic excuse for a woman.

"Look Pansy, honey, I'm sorry" I seemed to be saying that a lot, lately. I didn't mean it, not really. Not in this instance, at least. "But I've told you before; you're not really my type. You and I was never a "thing" and it wasn't going to be, either. It just won't work, and never will" I say. Now it really did feel like some kind of TV drama... for a second I was worried that she would have a complete breakdown, but instead, she looks at me shocked then steps back. Her hand comes across my cheek with a crack and people stare even more. Ouch, that stung, I thought to myself, as I turn my face back to look at Pansy who glares at me.

Spitting in my face, a globule of spit landing in my beer, she turns on her heels and storms out of the pub. The bargirl, who I had made blush earlier, walks up to me - handing me a wet wipe and some ice.

"Thanks," I say, managing a half-hearted grin. Man, Pansy really didn't take that as well as I'd have hoped. Pressing the ice to my cheek, I turn to the onlookers in the pub, who I shoot a filthy glare until they all turn back to their own business.

The barmaid nods in acknowledgement, before going back to the bar in order to serve the next customer. I slump down into a booth and sigh heavily.

Might as well get hammered before I fly tomorrow, I think to myself. I shrug before gulping down the rest of my drink. As I head back to the bar I see the girl serving again. She's quite a cutie, I think to myself, as I smile. I might have a night with her as well.

* * *

Hearing my iPhone beep, I curse and jump out of the bed. Pulling on my boxers, jeans and shirt, with one hand, I prance around in a desperate bid to clean up most of her room. I then turned back to the girl, who had been pretty easy to convince, actually. The poor thing probably had self-esteem issues, I thought to myself. What was her name, again? I wondered... leaning down, I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Rather chaste, I admit, but I _was _in a hurry

"Thank you for a lovely night," I murmur, not quite sure if she heard me or not, before leaving. Managing to flag down a taxi the second I'm out of her flat, I catch a taxi back to my apartment. I get the driver to wait as I grab my bag before I frantically run back down, shoving a few pieces of chewing gum in my mouth in the process.

"Can't believe I slept so much" I moan to myself, as I jump back in to the taxi. "Airport, si-vous plait," I say leaning forward to tell the driver. He nods and waits for me to lean back before setting of.

"I'm guessing you're off to France then, eh?" He asks. I groan. I hate it when taxi drivers make polite conversation – always have done, ever since I started using the Muggle form of transport. I'd found over the years that apparating whilst hung-over was never really a good idea; and had bowed to my Pureblood ideals in order to take advantage of the transport system that dominated London, where I lived.

I nod, making no effort to be polite or sustain the conversation, and the driver notices. I dump my duffel bag on the seat next to me and close my eyes leaning my head back.

Damn, I think to myself, maybe I shouldn't have that last shot last night. I moan and rub my eyes. I was definitely looking worse for wear. "Rough night?" The driver asked God, could this driver not take a hint, I wondered. I nod once more, then rest my head back again. He chuckles and I feel slightly annoyed.

* * *

"_We are now landing in Paris, France." _The intercom says again. I always hate announcements on planes – the Captain always seems too jolly, and it unnerves me a little. Plugging my headphones in, I tune it out. On top of that, I tried to ignore the blonde girl who hadn't stopped nattering the whole way through the journey... kind of ironic, really, seeing as I think she'd said her name was Natalie. But she had done everything aside from actually throwing herself at me, and I was starting to get pissed off.

"Do you think we can meet up, sometime?" She asks, sounding hopeful.

"I don't know," I reply, nonchalantly. Fortunately, we then land, and she stays silent. I don't allow her to speak even when we're getting off. I make sure to lose her in the crowds, and it crosses my mind what a horrible person I am. Oh well. I shrug it off – I am who I am... I'm not called Draco Malfoy for no reason at all.

I mean, I'm here to take a break and maybe even find a girl who my Mother can actually stand. She seems to have something against the giggling bints that I always bring to accompany me to her decadent dinner parties.

Okay, so maybe that seems highly unlikely... the more probable outcome is that I'll end up having a few one night stands, but who can blame me? I have the looks and the wealth, it's what comes with being a Malfoy; I might as well use them to my advantage... I think to myself, chuckling.


	3. Doubts

**A/N:** So they're both in France. What are the chances of them being in the same bar? Dun Dun Durrr... R&R Please, love you lots - Beth :) xx

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**Doubts**

_Why I am here? What I am doing? _These are the questions racing through my head as Ginny and I walked down the streets of Paris, the light beginning to fade from sky and darkness spreading its oppressive fingers over the horizon. I shuddered, wrapping my coat even tighter around me than it already was, and I shoved my hands deep into my pockets. I couldn't help but be miserable, even in such a beautiful city. After all – I had loved Ron. Really truly loved him; I believed we were meant to be together forever, and that we'd get old and wrinkly with one another, sat by the hearth of our family home. He clearly had thought otherwise – which was why he'd taken off with that bint, Lavendar.

The stars started to peer through the dusky grey sky, half lit with the lavender – the blasted colour - and pink horizon framing the golden head of the sun. The street lights were humming with a warm orange glow, and people were gathering in restaurants and bars, many walking arm and arm, filling the crisp air with chit-chat and laughter. Someone was playing a violin somewhere on a street corner and a dainty voice was singing in French. The romantic architecture was all around us – it seemed I couldn't escape it, wherever I looked. A particularly heavy floral scent was in the air, a consequence of the pots of flowers here, and I paused, as I spotted a couple seated on a bench.

The pair were oblivious to their surroundings as they kissed, seeming caught up in their own little world. Having said that, that was probably a good thing, or else they would've noticed me, just standing there, watching. Barely able to help it, I couldn't tear my eyes away from them, and I could feel my eyeballs turning green in my jealousy. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest, longing for something which was no longer mine. Somebody who'd ripped himself away from me; severing our connection for ever, never to be re-united with one another. Ginny grabbed my arm and pulled me away, and I dragged my feet reluctantly, still watching the loved-up couple in their blissful state.

"Come _on_, Hermione, you've hardly said anything, or eaten anything since we've got here!" She slapped me limply, jerking me out of my reverie. "You're wasting away."

I shrugged – eating seemed petty in the grand scheme of things. What was the point? It was hardly as if Ron was going to tell me that I'd lost too much weight or was looking a bit peaky – I had completely and utterly given up on men. I knew there was no point in telling this to Ginny, though, for she had an unhealthy obsession with the opposite sex as it was.

Which was why I simply shrugged, slowing to a ambling pace she berated me.

"We are in _Paris_! We might as well enjoy it!" She prodded at me. "C'mon, let's go get a drink!"

"No!" I protested, trying to pull my arm out of the clutches of the redhead's grasp. The furthest thing from my mind right now was getting drunk – something which I very rarely did at the best of times. I wasn't particularly keen on the taste, anyway, but it was more the after effects that put me off drinking. However, those things didn't seem to sway Ginny, and she kept pestering and guilt trapping me.

"How about just one?" Ginny pleaded, tugging my arm and drawing me toward a moderately packed bar. "One teeeeeeeny, weeny little drink? You're hardly going to get drunk."

She was right, but I suspected that if I started drinking, I wouldn't want to stop. I'd drown myself, immerse myself in the alcohol until I could barely see three feet in front of me – least of all remember _him_and everything that he's done.

People were dancing and drinking and the large French doors were flung open so everyone could hear the commotion – an electric rhythm pulsating throughout the night air. Any other time and I'd have been drawn to it, like a fly to light, but now all I was receiving from the bar was a headache. I never understood why these places insisted on playing their music quite so loud.

"Are you going to refuse to have any fun, and forever be a miserable wretch?" Ginny asked; a sparkle in her eye. I could see there would be no deterring her from her master plan to get drunk. Once Ginny made her mind up about something, there was nothing you could do – unless, of course, you wanted to be on the receiving end of one of her bat-bogey hexes.

Anger sparked in me. A miserable wretch? "Yeah," I said sharply, retracting from her. "I'd rather do that than go off and mope because _my fiancé left me_," I snarled, "Than act like a slut in there," I gestured, sighing, regretting my words as soon as they were out of my mouth. I knew Ginny knew that I didn't really mean what I was saying. My voice softened, "I've already got a headache." It was an after-thought, and hardly a good excuse – nothing a few aspirin wouldn't sort out.

"It'll be _fun_! Only one drink, I swear, and then we'll go back to the hotel," she playfully stepped forward. "Or I'll go by myself, and you can watch those two people make-out on that bench again if you want." She danced back a few steps, getting nearer and nearer to the entrance. She slipped inside, gone within an instant, as she disappeared from my view.

Oh, no - I wasn't going to let her go in there all by herself. She was younger than me, and from what I knew about her, easily corruptible with the right application of booze, after all. I knew all too well what she could be like after she's had a bit too much to drink, remembering the horrific moment I'd walked in on her trying to give Harry a lap dance in my room. I gave in, mentally kicking myself, and followed her into the bar.

Pretty soon she had been whisked off her feet by some random French guy, having already consumed about three shots. So much for one drink, I thought, slumping down by the bar-counter on my own. I swallowed a shot in one gulp. Urgh. Alcohol had never been something I especially enjoyed – and whilst I was prone to a Fire whisky every now and again, Muggle booze really was quite vile. I pushed the empty glass away, running my hand over my face.

"Bad day?" came a man's voice beside me.

_Oh, fantastic... What have you gotten me into, Ginny?_ I sighed to myself and turned to face the stranger.


	4. Unexpected

**A/N:** The feeling of deja-vu is one of the weirdest in the world, dontcha think? Let me know what you think of this chappie - Beth :) xx

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**Unexpected**

I'd been sitting in the bar ever since I'd arrived, and had probably already spent a fortune on drinks. Several French girls had approached me but only one had been able to speak English, and she wasn't pretty enough to bother with. I really couldn't be done with speaking to anyone in their own language – I was too tired from the flight. I'd come to Paris for a break – not to test my language skills, I thought to myself. I made my mind up; I'll start on the love discovery tomorrow.

Except at that exact moment when I made my decision, I noticed a picture from across the room. I looked at her from the corner of my eye – at first, she was accompanied by a redheaded friend who looked surprisingly familiar from the quick glance I got. But within a matter of minutes, and a few shots later, the friend had been whisked off to dance with a dark haired Parisian.

The girl had stood with her back to me, watching her friend. They looked similar from what I had seen. She sighed – I noticed the slump of her shoulders - before coming over to the bar and slumping against the counter. I realised that in the better light that the bar cast, her hair was a dark lustrous brown; curly and long enough to begin to travel down her back. I watched as she ordered a shot, downing it in one which caused me to raise an eyebrow. She pushed the glass away, before running her hand over her face. I regarded her curls with a pensive expression on my face – they were familiar, and yet in my currently alcohol-tinted state, I couldn't quite recall where I recognised them from.

"Bad day?" I ask, from my newfound spot beside her. She seemed to deflate, slightly, almost as if me talking to her irritated her. That hurt my ego a little, but nevertheless I continued trying to win her over with my easy charm.

The girl turned and looked at me her eyes widening, why, I'm not quite sure. They were a deep chocolate brown, and amongst them I detected a note of pain and sadness. What was wrong with me? I thought to myself, I've turned all Patriarchal and soppy since arriving in Paris! If it hadn't been for the fact I was starting to stare I would have spent longer just looking at her... I shook myself, trying to pull myself together. She really looked startlingly familiar. If she turned out to be English, then perhaps I might have met her at some point or other.

"I suppose you could say that... I'm meant to be on my honeymoon" She whispered not looking away from my face. She seemed faint, distant even, as if she was analysing me. But then she snapped out of it, her gaze travelling across my features almost daze like.

"And you're not?" I asked, leaning forward but leaning sideways to rest on the bar. The girl swallows seeming uncomfortable and nervous with the closeness – for reasons unbeknown to me; girls couldn't normally resist my wicked ways. She seemed to be quite a lot to handle – and averse to speaking to me, let alone anything more. She probably thought I was some Plebeian, who she oughtn't to waste her time with. But my fuck, she was beautiful.

"No," she began, her voice injected with the same pain and sadness that clouded her eyes. "I was left at the altar," She says, and it's like with those words she snaps back to her senses. She begins to cry and puts a hand over her mouth beginning to turn away. The pain in her beautiful brown orbs is terrible and I find myself pulling her into my arms. Strange. I'm hardly an affectionate person, normally. Instead, I have no motives; the only focus is to comfort her. To try to stop these light tears staining her cheek. I can't help thinking that I know her from somewhere, once upon a time. Her nose is snub and a light smattering of freckles decorate it – and she's pale, as if she doesn't get much sun. She's undoubtedly pretty, but seems unaware of it, broken and shattered.

" Shh," I whisper, as I stroke her hair, feeling the softness of it. She rests her head perfectly on my shoulder and my arms fit round her waist like they're part of a jigsaw piece that's just found its matching piece. "Do you want to leave?" I ask her, gently. For the first time in my life, I, Draco Malfoy, have no idea what I'm doing as the words tumble out of my mouth.

She nods, wiping away a few of the tears with the back of her hand. "Hang on," she says, surveying the room for her friend from earlier. "I don't know your name?" She whispers, letting me guide her gently out of the stuffy bar. "You seem really familiar," she adds, shyly, as if the admission is embarrassing. I pause – so I'm not the only one experiencing an unnerving sense of deja-vu.

"Draco," I say simply.

"Draco Malfoy?" She asks, and her eyes widen in disbelief, her delicate hand clapping over her mouth. I nod, curious as to how she knows me, and I, her.

"Yes," I say, and then it is with a sinking feeling I realise that the girl I've just hugged, stroked the hair of _and_offered an escape route to, is none other than Hermione Granger; resident bookworm and bane of my childhood

Every bloody exam she used to beat me in – sending smug looks across the classroom, which I felt boring into my back. She used to toss her frizzy hair and trot down the corridors followed by those idiots, Potter and Weasel. Hermione Granger, the girl who spent more time in the library than anyone I've ever known, who'd read Hogwarts a History enough times to be able to rewrite it from memory? Merlin, I think to myself… what have I gotten myself in for?

"Hermione?" I manage, her first name sounding foreign on my lips. After all, I only ever referred to her as "Granger" or "Beaver" during our school years. a feeble smile and I grinned back at her.

She nods, I suspect, feeling the awkwardness of this situation. There's only one thing for it.

"So, shall we go outside or not?"

She regards me quizzically, as if judging me, and presses her lips together thinly, before nodding. We get up, her gathering her jacket and slipping her hand into mine as I lead her out through the throngs of people outdoors.


	5. Confusion

**A/N: **Why's Draco Malfoy being so nice to a 'Mudblood', hmm? Let me know what you think - Beth :) xx

* * *

**Confusion**

With his hand firmly holding mine – I noted his hands were cool, yet not clammy. It made a nice change from Ron's sticky, sweating dinner plates that had irked me the entirety of our relationship, as much as I had loved him. Draco Malfoy, the man who had bullied me for the majority of my school years, slid his arm around my waist, protecting me from the leering French men, as he led me from the bar.

Nearly everything was blurry, and my tears stained my vision as they cascaded down my cheeks. The thought of what a sight I probably looked just made me weep all the more – I was falling to pieces, and it was just my luck that Draco Malfoy, notorious womaniser and manipulator, was here to witness it.

I choked on my sobs, trying to hold them back. I had no idea why this guy was being so nice given our history with one another or why I was simply preparing myself to tell him everything – but I knew for sure I wasn't the kind of girl who would go off with just anyone. Least of all someone, for all my knowledge, still hated my sheer existence. But this version of the boy I'd gone to school with, this Draco... He seemed so attentive and caring, so much so that I felt obliged to follow him wherever he guided me, irrespective of our past with one another.

Gently he ushered me away from the music, which was pounding in my head and only succeeding in worsening my headache, in combination the dancing people, the laughter and flashing lights.

On a quieter avenue overlooking a small park, he found a bench – I note with sadness, the bench I'd been witnessing a loved up exchange merely half an hour before - and helped me set myself down, his arm still around me. He said nothing as I attempted to regain some of my composure. I rubbed my eyes, smearing some of my mascara and eye make-up on my hands.

Why did I even put make-up on today knowing that at some point I was going to cry? Exasperatedly, I sighed. "I need to stop crying," I said, telling myself, more than him. I looked at my makeup smeared hands, half laughing through my tears. "I'm sorry; you probably don't want to be around me. You can go back in there if you want, find some chick to dance with or whatever. I hardly think you envisaged your night ending up like this."

"It's alright," he said, his voice low and quiet, as he brushed some of my hair back and tucked it behind my ear. Heat washed over my cheeks, and I thanked the lord that my face was already red and swollen like a tomato, from crying.

"So is this your usual routine," I asked, in half-disbelief that he cared…and that he was so good-looking. How had I missed that, in the years I'd spent with him at school glaring at him from the other side of the Dungeon? "Find the most depressed girl at the bar, try to make her feel better, and earn a kiss or two?"

He chuckled lightly, a foreign but not wholly unpleasant sound – I hadn't known that Draco Malfoy was even able to laugh, having only ever witnessed his trademark sneer. "I normally go for the girls who aren't much trouble if you know what I mean?" I knew exactly what he meant.

People like Ginny. I grinned at the thought of her getting whisked off by the Frenchman, the second she had walked into the bar.

I sighed, looking up at the sky, which was clear tonight, though the stars were dimmed slightly by the city lights. Brushing aside another stray tear, I closed my eyes. "I really loved him," I muttered. "Why was I so blind? He is such a….such a…jerk!"

I opened my eyes and looked to Draco again, who was now watching me patiently. How he was still sat beside me on the bench was beyond me. I shook my head. "Why am I even telling you all this? You don't care." I laughed, bitterly. "You don't even know me!"

Draco remained quiet, still looking into my eyes. Taking his thumb, he lightly traced my jaw bone, making his way up until he could carefully wipe the moisture from beneath my eyes. "I assume you're talking about Weasel?" He asked, breaking the silence that was growing between us.

I nod, not bringing myself to be able to correct Ron's surname.

"I could think of five other words for jerk," he murmured, making me smile. We stared at one another in silence for a moment, or perhaps several minutes. It seemed for a brief second my tears dried, I didn't feel compelled to cry, and I revelled in the short intimacy we shared, as if it calmed my torrent of emotions.

He bent closer, as if to reach for my lips, but it was just enough to wake me up from my dreamy state. I withdrew slightly. "I-I don't think I'm ready to kiss someone just yet," I whispered to him, my voice filled with an apologetic tone. Slowly, I stood and willed myself to try to turn and walk away, his eyes lingering on me the entire time.

"Will I get to see you again, Granger?" he called, his voice tugging at my heart, reminding me of the times that he'd called me that at school.

"Will I ever see you again?" It was one of those lines they said in literally every romantic film under the sun – and yet it didn't seem right to come tumbling out of the mouth of Draco Malfoy. There was certain desperation in his tone - a longing - which made me turn around to survey him once more. Half of me wanted to stay, and half of me was frightened, still shell-shocked and heartbroken from my love being tossed away and shattered.

Even more slowly, I took a step towards him, though we were still pretty near one another. I reached for my bag, shuffling through it in order to find a pen.

"I can't pronounce it….," I began, scrawling the letters on his skin as gently as I could. "But this is where I'm staying."

Below it, I quickly wrote, 'Hermione.' I looked up to meet his gaze, slightly blushing under it. He gave a half smile, entrancing me with his casual charm. This wasn't right – getting in such a state about a man who had expressed from an early age how much he hated my existence. Somehow, though, I couldn't really help it.

"Sleep well," I murmured. Instinctively, I reached up and placed a fleeting kiss on his cheek – cool, just like his hands had been, I note – a simple gentle peck, nothing more. Walking in the opposite direction, I don't look back, and yet I can feel the weight of his heavy gaze on my back, and I can feel my skin burning under it.

Oh, Merlin, what have I done now?


	6. Gifts

A/N: Where's Draco Malfoy gone, huh? And what's this about Roses? R&R Please - Beth :) xx

* * *

**Gifts**

"Goodnight," I whisper after her, but I don't think she hears, as she walks off, her hips swaying in the warm light of the streetlights.

I watch her as she walks away, not looking back. I sigh heavily – and for some reason my heart felt heavy. I continue to watch her walk away from my presence... until she was gone. Gone, just like she had been for the past five years of my life, since I'd last seen her, at Graduation.

I look down at my arm and smiled. Her handwriting was slightly messy – not the neat cursive script that had decorated most of her ridiculously long essays at school - but glided across my skin like a tattoo - and I had a bizarre feeling that it belonged there.

"See you tomorrow, Hermione," I whisper to myself, searching the horizon for her, but finding nothing. As I finish speaking to myself – first sign of madness, my mother had always told me, I turn on my heels, pushing my hands into my pockets and head back through the park_._

I shake my head. I really must be going mad – I never get myself into such a state over a girl, I mean, for crying out loud, I'm DracoMalfoy, I think to myself. Heartbreaker of the century; and according to Witch Weekly, the wizarding world's most eligible batchelor, too - I'm a force not to be reckoned with;_ I__ chuckle__ to myself__, as_I walk in the direction of the rented stylish apartment, having no need to go back to the pub. Not now after I've met _her._

* * *

I yawn and stretch my limbs as I wake up. The soft pounding in my head – the tell-tale signs of too much alcohol consumption from the night before - luckily isn't too strong, as I didn't even drink that much. Thanks to her... I hadn't stayed long because of Hermione... What a beautiful name. It rolled from my lips with a gentle flow... OK, I admitted to myself, I had it bad. The girl I'd hated and scorned along with her stupid little friends was now on my mind, etched somewhat permanently, and I couldn't help but suspect that that wasn't good – at _all_.

Getting to my feet, I walked into the bathroom to have a shower. As I stepped out of the shower, after washing my body and hair quickly with soap and shampoo, I ruffled my blonde locks (which I no longer gelled, due to the insistence of my mother), grabbing a towel from the rail in the bathroom.

After shaving, I dry myself off with the towel, and head back into the bedroom. Out of my suitcase, lying open on the side dresser, I pull out a pair of slim black jeans and a checkered blue shirt. I sigh to myself – why didn't I bring some more casual clothes? I hope to myself that Hermione won't notice I wear designer – I don't want to be categorized.

I mean, she probably knows how wealthy the Malfoy family is already; but I'm sure she doesn't know about the exact figures that the wizarding magazines take great delight in publishing week in week out. If she knew I'd come into a ton of money when my Father died, I doubt she'd be impressed. No, I think to myself, knowing her type, the bookish ones, she'd probably run away screaming at the sheer idea of having that much money.

I chuckle to myself. She'd find out – undoubtedly – but not yet, anyway. Pulling the jeans on and buttoning the shirt, I leaving two buttons undone. I don't mind attracting attention – after all, I'm used to it – and I was pretty sure Hermione wouldn't mine me exposing only a little of what I had to offer. If I got my way, then perhaps I'd get to see a little bit more of her than was on show, too.

I grab my phone from the side – the new iPhone I'd bought since getting a job at the Ministry - and check the time. I grin to myself, a true gadget man in his element; I'd treated myself to the swanky new phone before I'd left for Paris, and was already very much attached to it. With my Dad gone, my mother and I had both broached slowly into the wonderful ways of Muggles – and this contraption, in my hand, was one for which I was most thankful for. Considering they don't have magic, Muggles really are quite the geniuses.

If I go quickly, I think to myself, I'll be able to catch Hermione before she heads to breakfast with her friend – who I realise with hindsight must be that pig-headed Weasel's sister – Ginny, or something, I think she's called.

Typing in the address for the hotel into the app, having already memorised it prior to wiping the ink from my arm with soap in the shower, I lock the apartment door behind me, twisting the key in the lock and slipping it back into the pocket of my Levi's.

Choosing to walk, and enjoy the scenery, I grab a croissant to stop my stomach from grumbling – hardly very aristocratic of me – and a fragrant red rose from one of the street sellers who I can't shake off. It really is actually quite a beautiful flower, and I twirl it between my fingers and thumb, as I stride down the street, a rarely seen grin etched onto my features.

Hopefully she'll like it.


	7. Musings

**A/N:** Hmmmmm so this could be interesting, could it not. R&R please, much appreciated - Beth :) xx

* * *

**Musings**

I caught Ginny still at the bar, where I'd left her – she had definitely had more than the one drink that we'd originally agreed on – and this time she was dancing with a different guy than the one I had seen her last twirling round the room with.

After she'd drunkenly exchanged her number for his, I had drawn her away and taken her back to our hotel. My mind was swimming with thoughts of Draco and our meeting, and a little half smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. I had a feeling that this trip to Paris wasn't going to be as bad as I had initially been expecting.

Ginny pretty much collapsed onto the sofa as soon as we were back, and I crept into bed, flicking off the light. I stared into the darkness, sighing as I thought of what transpired. All of it. The past few days did indeed seem like some sort of weird dream which I was just going to wake up from at some point. Jilted at the altar and then before you know it, I've met the most perfect, charming, sweet guy... but I'm still finding it hard to trust him, what with who he is, what he's done to me in the past. I remember with a smile, that one time that I socked him in the face during our third year. That had been fun. Really good fun.

* * *

The next morning I woke due to the sun streaming through the gaps in the blinds, prising my eyelids unwillingly open, as they sought the light. I lay in bed for a while, gazing up at the ceiling, and wondering if all what had happened was true. And it was. I was in Paris. On what was supposed to be my Honeymoon. He, that redheaded, good for nothing prick, had left me.

But unusually, I didn't feel depressed this morning. I didn't feel like laying in my bed and refusing to move, watching the Jeremy Kyle Show or Loose Women, and eating tub after tub of Ben & Jerry's. Instead, I felt angry. Betrayed. Furious. Every negative word to do with hate, and I probably felt it. Forget him, I told myself, you can't let him ruin your life. Words that Ginny had been chanting for the past month or so – like a mantra of sorts.

With my newfound revelations, and so much energy bursting through me, I scrambled through my luggage until I had grabbed a pair of sweats and a top, holding them up triumphantly, until I realised that there was nobody else in the room with me.

Giggling to myself, I shoved my headphones in my ears, and turned the music volume up as loud as my eardrums could tolerate, before briskly walking down to the small gym that the Hotel had. Getting on the treadmill, I ran as fast as I could, Adrenaline pulsing through me, at every moment my foot struck the treadmill, and I felt like a maniac as I felt obliged to completely run my brains out. I felt awesome, for the first time in such a long time.

My knees were about to give out by the time I finally decided to give up, panting and covered with sweat, I made my way back to the room. I held my breath and tiptoed into the hotel room; as Ginny was still sprawled on the couch with her mouth hung wide open. I smiled slightly, creeping to the bathroom in order to wash after the exercise.

The cool water against the heat of my skin made me shiver, but it also felt delightful. I quickly scrubbed some soap in my hair and across my limbs, washing the perspiration away. My strength came back to me, standing under the cascading torrent of water, and I began to hum _Wicked_ songs under my breath. I laughed at how off key I was, but I was too happy to care. Wrapping the towel around my body, I went to the counter, blew my hair dry and started on my make-up. I wasn't going to cry today, so I applied lashings of mascara and a slick of lip gloss. There was no danger of tears, I thought to myself; that was for certain.

Forget him! Forget him! I continually kept pounding in my head. It was a jubilant anger of sorts. Arranging my hair and putting the finishing touch on my makeup, I swept over to my luggage again. Perhaps I'd see Draco again, I thought to myself, as I yanked out a maxi dress. After trying it on, it was immediately discarded. Too dressy, I thought to myself, it looked like I was trying too hard. I found my skinny John Rocha jeans at the bottom of my bag and slipped into them – they were my favourite thing from my wardrobe, and I had scrimped and saved for ages to be able to afford them. My only dilemma now, was what to wear on top. Fastening my bra, I pulled on a plain white tank top and slipped into a pair of red wedges. Scrutinising myself in the mirror, I decided I looked too plain, and I rummaged through my bag even more until I found a long necklace, which I added to the ensemble, before looking in the mirror again, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

I deflated. I looked like someone else, like my inside didn't match my out. I looked too happy and…..normal.

"Forget the douche! Be yourself! Maybe you'll see Draco this morning," the voice in the back of my mind simpered reassuringly, though the other side of me doubted that I would ever see him again. He probably thought I was some mentally unstable women, who he'd tried it on with, hadn't got far, and now he would move on and cease to think of me ever again. I bit my lip and tossed aside my doubts, the ones eating away at my mind. I swore to myself that at this rate, I was going to drive myself insane over the course of this trip.

I was going for a walk, no matter what I was wearing.


	8. Conversing

**A/N: **Ooh la la or what? Reviews are lovely - Beth :) xx

* * *

**Conversing**

I strolled through the market, tasting cheeses and little French breakfast foods, buying small knick-knacks as I strolled along. I didn't speak French at all – I'd ignored my French teacher my entire primary school life, who had desperately tried teaching me, but to no avail. I'd never been able to get over her appearance – she had had a manly air about her and a prominent jutting chin and greasy black hair – and her lessons were far from enjoyable. It was with the gift of hindsight I chuckled, realising how much she reminded me of my late Potions professor, Professor Snape. I guess I blamed her for my lack of French-speaking ability, but somehow, in spite of all that, I had managed just fine. I was, amazingly, enjoying myself.

By the time I was finished, my arms were weighed down with bags, and I figured I should check in to see if Ginny had woken up yet. It was getting pretty late, and I was even surprising myself that I was looking forward to touring and seeing more of Paris. This trip was looking better than I had originally thought, I smiled to myself.

I smiled at the porter as he pulled open the door, giving the only word perhaps I knew in French, "Bonjour!" I didn't get much further than the door, though, as I froze, stuck to the spot after seeing that across the fine front foyer was Draco, standing at the front desk talking with the man on the other side of the desk. I strained my ears, in an attempt to hear what the pair were saying.

"I am sorry," I heard the man say in his thick French accent. "I believe she is out, or she is still sleeping. No one answered the phone." Crap, I thought to myself. What if the phone had woken Ginny up, who had no idea where I was?

"Oh," Draco said, looking half-disappointed, as far as I could see from the back.

"You could come back and check later, perhaps?" The concierge offered him a half smile, and his eyes sparkled knowingly.

"Alright," he replied. "Thank you, Sir."

My breath caught in my throat, and I turned and left via the same door I had come in, before he saw me. I was unsure why, but I hurried down the marble steps and waited at the bottom, pretending to look preoccupied by rummaging through my purchases as if I was looking for something. It wasn't long before Draco strode past me, whistling a melancholy tune, but he didn't notice me, and he turned and began walking down the street in the opposite direction.

"Draco?" I called, straightening and saying it loud enough so that he could hear. He turned and faced me. Instantly, I began to blush as he scanned me, but even harder as I realized he held a flower in his hand. Could that have been for me? I slapped myself mentally, who else would it be for? I chuckled, as he ambled over to where I was stood.

"Hermione, hey," he smiled, walking over to me. "You look….," he looked me up and down, appearing somewhat awestruck. "…beautiful," He finished.

"Oh," I looked down at myself, trying to disguise my flushing cheeks, which by now, I was sure were a crimson shade. "Thank you." You look pretty amazing yourself, I thought to myself – noticing the partially unbuttoned shirt, and the toned looking skin that lay beneath it. That was probably credit to the years of Quidditch he'd played – and clearly still did.

There was a slight pause, and I shifted awkwardly on my wedges. "This…is for you," Draco offered me the bright red flower, a delicate, refined rose. It was gorgeous, just like him, I thought, as I surveyed his face in detail for the first time since I hadn't been sobbing. He had a wide grin and perfectly white teeth and soft blonde hair that matched his sparkling eyes.

I smiled, instinctively sniffing it. "Thank you," I said softly. I examined it for a moment and then looked back up at him. "It is…so nice to see you again."

He grinned wider. "You didn't think I would come?"

I opened my mouth and was about to reply, but Ginny came out from the Hotel doors. Her timing had never been better, I thought to myself with a sigh.

"Hermione! There you are; I thought you had gone to breakfast," she called, coming to my side. Draco and I looked at her in awe. I wasn't surprised at how well she had cleaned herself up, despite having gotten drunk the previous night, there was no obvious sight that she had done so, her hair and makeup were perfect, her clothes were neatly and most fashionably arranged, the only sign a slight grogginess to her eyes.

She always had a way of looking better than me, I thought to myself bitterly. Growing up, she was considered the better looking of us two – something which everyone had made a point of telling me in the Gryffindor common room. Memories of Lavendar telling me to "try and look more like Ginny," caused a grimace to flash across my face momentarily. Draco scrutinised her, as if he was trying to read her, and she smiled at him, before she turned to me. And then flicked back to him.

As her eyes flicked between the pair of us, she raised her tone suggestively, "Did….I interrupt something?"

"Oh," I snapped back to my normal self. "Draco, this is Ginny, and Ginny, this is Draco."

"Draco? As in Draco Malfoy?" Ginny exclaimed in disbelief, exchanging a handshake with him. She gave me something of a playful look as he nodded. "Wow. And where did you two meet?"

"Umm, last night. At the bar," I said slowly.

"Oh?" a mischievous smile pulled at her lips. Suddenly, she grabbed my arm – quite forcefully, I might add - and turned to Draco. "Would you excuse us for a second?"

Before waiting for an answer, Ginny yanked me away.

"What?" I inquired after her, though she did not speak until we were several yards away where Draco stood, looking at us quizzically.

"Jeez, Hermione," Ginny grinned mischievously, still looking around me to glance at him. "He's gotten mega hot."

"Don't look at him, don't look," I hissed, forcing her to look back at me, averting my gaze from Draco's now cheeky grin.

"You've got to admit, he is divine," she said, shaking my arm excitedly. Then her face fell. "But he's Draco Malfoy. Didn't he used to bully you at school?"

"Shh!" I whispered, a bemused grin crossing my face. "He can probably hear!"

She laughed, still gazing over my shoulder at him. "Well that clearly doesn't seem to bother you, then…" She smiled at me, seeming unfazed by the unpleasant history she had with the man a few feet away from. "Go have breakfast with him! This is your opportunity to have fun." She winked, jokingly. "If you won't, I will."

"Oh, Ginny!" I slapped her playfully, half worried, in a sense, that she would try her luck with him. I shrugged the thought off. She was my sister from another mister, she wouldn't do that kind of thing to me – not when she knew I liked the guy!

"Don't 'Oh, Ginny' me!" she prodded at me. She gave me a little push and I nearly tripped over my wedges and landed sprawled on the pavement, but I managed to rescue myself from certain embarrassment. "Come on, you don't want to have him waiting!"

Half giggling to myself, we returned to him. "Well, I'm going to leave you two to yourselves," Ginny said, her words suggestive, and making me blush slightly. "Have a nice morning. It was lovely to meet you, again, Draco."

With that she left, giving me a little wink before skipping off, a triumphant stride in her step. I rolled my eyes – she was such a drama queen. As soon as she was out of ear-shot, Draco chuckled, "What was that all about?"

Mind you, by the look in his eyes, I could tell he'd heard the _entire_ conversation.


	9. Suspicions

**A/N:** So this was as far as I got with the other story (the one I've been editing to make a Dramione Fic) but I'm happy to continue it if people want. Just let me know what you think, along with what you want to happen, and then I'll see what I can do, and write some more :) - Beth :) xx

* * *

**Suspicions**

"Nothing," Hermione muttered, a fink blush faintly colouring her cheeks as she talked. She looked up into my eyes, and pushed a strand of her lustrous hair behind an ear. She allowed herself to take in my outfit, I noted with a smile of satisfaction, the expression on her face when she took in the undone buttons – her cheeks reddening so much so that they were now the rosiest that I'd seen so far. I let out a small chuckle, and reached out to brush a finger across her cheek.

"You're gorgeous when you blush, you know," I whisper to her, tipping my head down to speak in her ear. Something inside of me wants me to lean in and kiss her. Press my lips to her soft full red ones – just like in Shakespeare, when holy palmers kiss. I ignore the notion, accrediting the soppy metaphors to my presence in Paris, and I'm not sure if she notices my change in heart, and I step back.

"Would you care to join me for breakfast? I'll be paying," I asked with what I hoped was a cheeky grin. Never fails, I chuckled inwardly.

She inhales deeply and I realise with a small jolt of satisfaction that she's trying to calm her million-mile-an-hour heartbeat. "Of course, I'd love to," she grins, smiling up at me I smile in return and proffer my hand, which she takes in hers with a timid action, and I fold my fingers over her tiny hand. It fits perfectly, like two pieces of a jigsaw, as the cliché goes.

* * *

Without saying a word, she follows my lead as we head to the cafe I passed on the way to her Hotel, her matching my pace and us walking in companionable silence; the faint trace of a blush colouring her cheeks.

Walking down the streets of Paris, I don't fail to notice the numerous flirtatious looks and giggles that headed my way; some of them coming from ugly girls, some coming from ordinary girls, and even one or two from some exquisite French beauty. But for a change I didn't return the flirtatious glances with a wink, or a smile. Instead, I sighed heavily and looked down at Hermione, to see her in no better mood than me.

* * *

I mean, it was understandable; the attention was enough to put anyone off. Since we'd set off from the hotel, and the looks had begun, I felt her mood deflating like a balloon. I felt bad. I mean it was my fault.

I stopped abruptly in a little green area, and stopped Hermione by placing both my hands either side of her waist. She turned to face me with a confused, but curious, look on her face, and at first I was worried that I was being too forward; making assumptions. I worried if I'd done the wrong thing.

But the girls were already walking past now, ignoring me, for want of a better phrase, and even so she hadn't relaxed. Maybe it wasn't about the girls, I thought, maybe she just doesn't like me, and is too polite to say so! But my thoughts were interrupted, as I felt a delicate hand snake its way around my neck, and even with the heels she was wearing, she still went up on her tiptoes to push her lips against mine. The hand that had been round my neck, wound itself into my hair, caressing it gently, and my arm dipped to the small of her back, cradling her protectively as we kissed. I felt ecstatic, thrilled, as our lips danced together. She'd finally let me in.

I suspected that this holiday was going to be one of the best I'd ever had, I thought to myself, smiling against her lips.


End file.
